Following the Fashions
by CatherineJosephineMarie007
Summary: Aaaand, it seems that all my fics lately are based on clothes. This was inspired by the fic 'Mrs Hughes' New Dress', though my rating WILL go up in later chapters. This is a story of Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson in 1922, where the hemlines are shorter :
1. The New Dress

**Author's Notes: This is based on "Mrs Hughes' New Dress", a wonderful fic you should read immediately.**

**Disclaimer: Oh my god, guess what you guys? These characters aren't mine. Tragic, huh?**

**Time Frame: Day before Christmas 1922.**

Elsie Hughes tipped her bedroom mirror downward to see her body. What she wouldn't give for a tall mirror in a gilt frame like the one in Lady Mary's room right now. Sighing, she replaced the mirror on her bureau and made her way to the door. Her new dress swished around her legs and she shuddered with the new sensation. One new dress a year, and she had to go with the new fashion. She couldn't just play it safe?

Apparently not. But now it was too late to change, so she made her way down to breakfast. Thankfully, no one was looking at her when she walked in. It wasn't until she took her seat that someone noticed her newest foray into women's fashions.

"Good morning, Mrs Hughes." Mr Carson said, not looking at her at first. A few moments later he looked up from his newspaper, his eyes flicking over her.

"Good morning, Mr Carson." She replied, trying to act as though nothing was wrong.

He stared just below her neck for far longer than was necessary, then met her gaze. Elsie gave him the tiniest of smiles, just to let him know she knew he'd looked. Maybe this dress wasn't such a bad idea after all.

**oOo**

How could she wear something like _that_? It was all very well for Lady Cora or one of the girls, but it got drafty below stairs. Surely she'll get cold?

_Yes, Carson, you're concerned about her being_ cold, his inner voice snarked. This new dress was something to behold; not much new on the top half, with sleeves that stopped right above the graceful bones of her wrists. It was considerably thinner round the neck as well, her collar bone and just the most teasing bit of shoulder. And of course, the dratted thing was still black. But it was where her legs were folded neatly at the ankle beside his that he saw the real difference:

_Oh Lord._ All the way up to mid-calf was bare. Well, not _bare,_ obviously. Elsie was far too sensible to forego stockings. But still… he'd worked with the women nearly two decades and he couldn't remember ever seeing her legs. They were rather nice legs, to be sure, with slim ankles and feet that were shod in reasonable black shoes with a thin leather strap across the top. When bells began to ring and staff began to rise to see to their duties, Mrs Hughes smiled politely at him and went to see to her rounds. He had a very difficult time not staring at her legs as she went, and an even harder time not allowing his gaze to travel upward—

Oh dear. It was going to be a long day.

**So that's just the first chapter—I was thinking two or three more to finish off the arc. Then of course I've got two more chapters un-posted on my Mary/Edith friendship fic, and if the muse permits, perhaps another chapter of 'The Collar Conundrum' for those reviewers who were so kind as to ask for it. Now, I think my author's notes are sufficient in length, and I'm going to go to bed. Turrah!**


	2. Liason in the Blue Bedroom

**This is all a little PWP, and will continue to be so, since all the sad fic recently is bumming me out. DON'T GET ME WRONG, it's all Chelsie and it's all great stuff, but don't we all need a little good old fashioned smut every now and then? Trust me, we're getting to the smut. I actually have a plan.**

**Rating: It's going to go up a little in this chapter, we are moving more into T, but it should be appropriate to read at work/school. I like the idea that some of you are in libraries or on trains trying to cover your screens. It makes me giggle. **

Elsie had to physically stop herself from skipping as she walked through the Abbey. The sun was shining, she had a new dress, and Mr Carson had stared. She wasn't a vain woman, and she'd never defined herself by what anyone else thought of her, but it was nice to be noticed everyone once in a while.

She often thought that when a woman entered service, she surrendered her femininity on the altar of professional ambition. Sometimes Elsie felt like she hadn't been seen as a real woman in years.

The last time had been when Joe Burns visited Downton and proposed to her. She'd felt wanted then, in a different way than she was _needed_ at Downton. There may not have been any passion on either side, but she knew he'd have taken care of her. But she turned him down. She'd turned him down because she couldn't stand the thought of leaving Downton and letting another woman take her parlour, her keys, her evening glass of wine _with him_.

Elsie had mentally berated herself for a long time after Joe had left town; how could she have been so foolish? A man who… well, if he didn't love her he certainly liked her very much, and wanted to make a life with her. She'd reached the top of her profession, why shouldn't she leave while she was ahead and have a marriage like normal women?

It wasn't until she told Mr Carson about her decision, and saw the look in his eyes when she said she hadn't accepted Joe's proposal, that she realised what a good decision she'd made: she wasn't a normal woman. She was liked and respected, and in Mr Carson's gaze she could see that he thought she was… something more. Extraordinary? Perhaps not. But she'd given up a farmer for her butler, and she didn't regret it.

When she'd reached the end of this train of thought, thumb and forefinger caressing the smooth velvet of her dress, Mr Carson himself rounded the corner and stopped. She froze as well, and they regarded each other, standing ten feet apart.

**oOo**

Charles was doing his rounds backwards today—it was almost Christmas after all, and everyone was restless—why shouldn't he change his routine?

_Yes, THAT'S why you're changing the routine,_ the snarky voice was back. _It's not at all because you know her route backwards and forwards and you're actively avoiding another encounter with that dress._ That blasted dress, he grumbled to himself. He swore, if Elsie took to a new trend again and god forbid consent to a lower neck line, he'd—

But there was no time for him to finish the pleasurable, if potentially embarrassing thought; for standing right before him, no more than ten feet away, was Elsie walking down the hall. Oh dear Lord, he didn't know what he'd done to deserve such wonderful torture, but he'd be sure to do more of it in future. She stopped too, and looked at him questioningly. He cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say.

"Mrs Hughes," he rumbled, pulling himself up to his full height. Yes, he was Charles Carson, respected butler of Downton Abbey, not some disgraceful man who could not control himself—

And then she did it. Elsie pulled nervously at the neck of her dress, and he could see a light pink spreading up her chest…

She was walking toward him now, obviously with the intention of walking past him. But he inhaled the scent of lemons and some kind of flower from her perfume, and he lost his senses.

Snaking one arm around her waist, Charles tugged her into the blue bedroom. Elsie let out a little 'eep' and gripped his arm to stop from falling off her feet. Elsie looked up in surprise and saw his eyes were black with desire. She was gasping, somewhere between lust and alarm. He pushed her hard against the closed door and bent over her, so she had to look all the way up to him.

Elsie couldn't understand what was happening—this morning the biggest thing she had hoped for when she wore her new dress was a few appreciative stares. This… passionate reaction was quite incongruous.

He leaned in toward her. This was it, he was going to kiss her. The scent she always associated with him, the scent that lingered in her parlour after they'd had tea, engulfed her, and the warmth generated between their two bodies was too much to bear, and her eyes fluttered shut.

"I'm sure she's around somewhere, dear," Lord Grantham's voice was heard out in the hall, far too close for comfort. In a flash Charles was three feet away and standing proudly, if not nervously, away from her.

"I'm sure she is, but I believe Mrs Hughes is usually in this part of the house after the servants' breakfast." Lady Grantham replied.

The heat dissipated so fast Elsie had to blink at him a few times to assure herself that it had even existed at all. Regaining her composure, she stepped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her to hide Charles from view.

"You were looking for me, your Ladyship?" she said, trying to ignore her breathy voice and slightly thickened accent. She cleared her throat, controlled her breathing, and everything went back to normal. At least, that's what she told herself.

**Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. I've decided to write my first true UST fic, with passion and interruptions. That could be an alternate name for this fic, actually. Anyway, I'll be quicker with an update next time, I swear!**


	3. Late Night Tryst

**When I said sooner update, bet you didn't expect this! I was nervous about writing this chapter, but I decided the best way to combat that was to just bite the bullet. So, here I am, biting.**

**Disclaimer: Even if I sold all the (emotional) stakes I have in SG1, SGA, The Treks, and the Law and Orders, I wouldn't be even CLOSE to owning Downton Abbey. And as much as I love Downton, I have invested a lot (emotionally) in those other shows. So, to Julian Fellowes they belong. But I poutily contest that they would have much more fun with me. So there.**

**Rating: Somewhere in the grey area between T and M? Not inappropriate for public perusal, but hide it from your mother.**

**0oOo0**

Elsie gathered her shawl round her more tightly and made her way down the stairs. She was able to avoid every creak in the corridor, except for that blasted one at the bottom of the steps. It was relatively new, and she kept forgetting that the stair no longer kept silent. Wincing, she froze, hoping against hope that there was no one awake to hear her. After a few moments of protracted silence, she decided she was safe and continued on to the kitchen.

After a frankly exhausting day of avoiding Charles' eyes and keeping her legs FAR away from his underneath the table at meal times, she should have been asleep by now. Instead, unfortunately, her body refused to comply with her exhausted mind. So she was in the kitchen mere hours after everyone had gone to bed, making tea.

It was freezing in the attics and only marginally warmer below stairs as she tip toed about in her slippers, preparing one of the large earthenware cups for tea. There was no reason to dirty a china cup if she didn't have to.

Just as her fingers began to thaw around the mug, she heard that blasted bottom stair creak again. Elsie gathered her courage, ready to give a stern talking to to whomever was downstairs at this time of night (setting aside her feelings of hypocrisy for another time). When she saw who it was she almost dropped her mug.

Charles rounded the corner, sleep in his eyes with no dressing gown on. She didn't know how he could have forgotten it, the house was freezing; the glass in the windows was frosted over from the inside.

"Elsie?" he asked quietly, his voice rough from sleep.

"It's just me." she assured him.

"I thought I heard the stair creak." He nodded absent mindedly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Do you sleep with one eye open, Charles?" she asked. The stairs were loud, but not loud enough to wake him from a deep sleep.

"Apparently," he replied, shuffling closer. His eyes had cleared and his voice was back to normal. But, she found him staring again. "I've never seen that nightgown before," he commented lightly, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"I didn't know you took notice of my sleeping attire," she laughed quietly. "It isn't very new, but we haven't been rousted out of bed in the middle of the night to walk about the house in our night clothes since… since William and Mr Crawley went missing during the war." Her voice sounded tired all of a sudden.

"Yes, I remember." He replied. Charles also remembered that before they knew the situation that had befallen two of Downton's own, he had been preoccupied with her hair, laying over her shoulder in a plait with curls falling out at the sides. It took a considerable amount of self control not to reach out and let his finger trace the wavy locks that framed her face.

His self restraint was currently in the same predicament now. He leaned against the counter next to her at a respectable distance. _Always a respectable distance Charlie, always respectable behaviour, always respectable in word and deed_—he fought the urge to groan. The snarky voice was back again. Sometimes when his thoughts betrayed him, Charles wondered if he might be going mad. Every year since he left the stage, the voice faded away. He'd like to think his conscience out-matched it. But it was always in the forefront of his mind whenever Elsie was around. Especially when Elsie was around. In the middle of the night. In her nightdress. It was a very nice nightdress, properly befitting a housekeeper with morals and standards. Long and white with a respectable neck and long sleeves. Around her shoulders she'd wrapped a thick brocade shawl that had once been Lady Cora's many a season ago.

"What are you doing awake?" he asked.

"Over tired, I suppose," she answered. "I can't seem to make my thoughts stop long enough to fall asleep."

"I suppose I'm part of the reason for that," he grumbled. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" she asked. "You didn't seem very sorry at the time."

"No, I don't suppose I was," he chuckled self-depreciatingly. "I do apologise, however. I must have given you…quite a fright."

"Only at first," she admitted. "After a moment, I was…not feeling fear."

Charles approached, eyes fixed on her. "Then what did you feel?" he asked. The question was most out of character, but today he was filled with out of character ideas. He never gave Elsie a chance to tell him how she felt when he'd held her against the door, because he was holding her against the kitchen counter and kissing her with fervour.

Elsie had been kissed before, to be sure. She'd been young and beautiful once; but it had been ages since any man had even tried to get nearer to her than offering an elbow. But her butler was currently pushing her body against the counter next to the sink, running his hands down her back and up her waist, kissing her with deep longing and affection.

They'd forgotten anyone else was in the house. Charles let out a moan which she reciprocated, wrapping her arms around his neck. Any creak in the stairs now would not have been noticed, however it was a banging from outside that drew them back to reality.

Elsie broke away and they froze, waiting to be discovered. After a few seconds Charles moved away and looked outside.

Mr and Mrs Bates were prone to staying in his old servants' room during the busy Christmas season. This evening apparently they had cause to have a liaison in the courtyard, like in the time before their marriage. Bates now embraced his wife as they leaned against one of the crates stacked outside. The banging had been his cane falling against the crate and then down onto the cobblestones.

As Charles and Elsie watched, they kissed and Anna smiled incandescently. John bent and retrieved his cane, took Anna's hand, and led her back toward the back door. Who knew how long they had been out there, what they may have seen? The butler and housekeeper gazed at each other for a moment, standing completely still, as the Bates' climbed the servants' stairs. When all was quiet, Charles took Elsie's hand and led her back up to their rooms.


	4. A Distraction from Inventory

**Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews. I'm glad you are enjoying. Please don't hate me for this chapter, the UST continues!**

_Elsie and Charles paused at the top of the staircase, nearer the women's quarters than any man was usually allowed. She was nervous; her chest constricted, her heart pounding. Charles looked deeply into her eyes. Whatever he saw must have answered some questions for him, because he kissed her hand and gave her a smile so sweet that she couldn't help but smile back— trying not to imagine his warm, soft hands in other places…_

Elsie shook herself and brought herself back to her current surroundings, which happened to be the store cupboard. She was _supposed_ to be taking inventory, but she was constantly distracted by the events of the night before.

She'd skipped breakfast, eating tea and toast in her parlour very early when she could toss and turn in bed no longer. Now it was barely mid-morning, and she was trying to concoct a scheme to stay hidden all day if possible. Elsie was interrupted in her scheming by the store cupboard door opening fully on creaky hinges and Mr Carson filling the doorway. Elsie could do little more than stare as he took in the sight of her—no new dress today, she wore the plain black one with the white lace collar—then stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Thankfully she had lit the gas lamp hanging from the ceiling to avoid straining her eyes.

"Mr Carson, what—" her protestations were cut off by his urgent lips on hers, the shock of it causing a little cry to escape her lips. Her surprise was not enough to keep her from responding, however, and as Elsie kissed him back Charles took her inventory book from her and dropped it on the floor. Now that her hands weren't clutching it between them, he could pull her in tight against his body and spread his fingers across her back.

Needing the extra support for her weak legs, Elsie leaned back against the shelves, taking her butler with her. Once she was pressed against the rough wood shelving, Charles was able to let his hands roam a little, hooking her leg round his waist and exploring where he stocking met its fastening.

"Forgive me, Elsie," he grumbled in her ear, taking the lobe into his mouth in between apologies. "I cannot help it… forgive me…"

"Yes," she sighed in response, though whether it was an acceptance of his apology or an encouragement of his attentions neither was sure. Elsie was sure he could have taken her right there in the store cupboard, but a harsh yell brought them back to reality:

"DAISY! Come back here girl, don't be straying so far when we've got a pot off jam on the oven, have I taught you nothing?"

Daisy's reply of, "Coming Mrs Patmore," was barely heard as the two of them stared at each other. Charles' little voice was thankfully just as shocked as him, and offered no comment. Good god, he really would have—right here, even! With others so close by. But then again, she would have let him…

Elsie was breathing heavily, desire and corset waging a battle with her lungs. Her lungs were losing, badly, and she feared it was because he was still so close to her. Her leg was still held in place under her knee by his large capable hand. They were a tableaux of impropriety, and needed to right themselves before Mrs Patmore noticed the door was open and went banging in to see what was going on.

"We need to go." She whispered.

"Yes," he replied roughly. "May I see you tonight? The family will be leaving for dinner at Sir Anthony Strallan's… I'll be through early…"

Without hesitation, she made her reply. "Yes."

**Author's Notes: I know, I know, I'm horrible. But the last chapter is forthcoming, where we REALLY earn our M rating, ladies and gents. So, kindly review if you have time, thanks a bunch, and I hope you don't mind this one last interruption!**


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